Don't
by Yumi-chan-likes-chainsaws
Summary: Through idiotic brothers and his own mishaps, England comes to the conclusion that he must court France. Pre100YearsWar FrancexEngland, sequel to Hate Me. Part two up
1. Part One

**_Yumi- Originally a oneshot, but I decided to upload it in three pieces_**

**_Bob- because you're weird like that_**

**_Yumi- and I wanted to have it finished by now, but I don't. So, hell, here's the sequel to Hate Me. This will not make much sense if you have not read hate me, so take out the spaces in this link to it _**

http : / www . fanfiction . net /s/ 6434937 /1/ Hate_Me

**_Hope this is alright, sayounara~_**

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><p><strong>Don't<strong>

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><p>France was late.<p>

England sighed, fiddling with the hem of his long shirt, grumbling in mild cusses as he leaned himself up against the tree, scuffing the ground. It had been a few months since he had seen the older boy, but those few months had made a difference.

England smirked. He had grown mysteriously tall due to one thing or another and he was pleased to say that he must be nearly as tall as France now, if not bigger. It would be great if he was bigger, but it was probably too much to ask. His smirk widened. France would have a heart attack or one of his feminine fits once he saw that he was no longer 'mon petit lapin'. England didn't really know what that meant, but 'petit' had something to do with small size, he thought, so he most certainly wasn't that.

He sighed, staring at the clouds roll by. It wasn't raining for once, which wasn't missed as he hated the horrid weather and it wouldn't do to have France crying about his hair getting all wet like the flamboyant fool he was. England let a breath escape his closed lips.

He bet he was still wearing that hideously girly dress. The bishop had caught England in his and he suffered a telling off worse than the one he got for growing his hair, which just proved that trusting France was not a very clever thing to do if you wished to stay out of trouble.

England was getting mad now. France had made the damn arrangements with his damn bird carrying messages back and forth to the mainland, so he could at least have the decency to show on time.

He dropped to the ground, blowing out his cheeks like a squirrel gathering nuts in a sulk. His brothers might show up and, as of late, they weren't on the best of terms for some reason, but, then again, they never really were the most happy of families.

England closed his eyes. If France didn't show up by the time he counted to three he was going to go to sleep; the frog could wait like he had waited then.

_One._ The leaves fluttered around the grass in the wind.

_Two._ A rabbit nudged England with it's nose before scurrying off.

_Three._ A young French boy was leaning over him with a bemused look on his face. "Angleterre?"

"I'm asleep, frog," the growl came and England squeezed his eyes shut, his face heating up peculiarly.

"Then how can you talk to me?" France thumped down beside him, crossing his legs and using his forefinger to poke the younger's furrowed brow.

"I'm magic."

"I can see that."

England decided that pretending to be asleep was too boring to be going on with and annoying France and reluctantly letting France bug him might be a little more entertaining than that. He sat up and narrowed his eyes at the other blonde, who smiled knowingly.

"You grew, oui?"

England grinned impishly, hopping up and dragging and protesting France with him. Leveling his hand, he made a line from his forehead to between the French boy's eyes. He let out a small huff of defeat and dropped his hand as France smiled. "Big brother is still taller, oui?" he teased.

"Shut up, I've grown loads," he hissed, his face growing weirdly hot again.

"I know, I know; maybe one day," came the infuriating laugh. England growled, but then stopped, bemused.

It wasn't like France was completely the same neither. He wasn't wearing a dress anymore and actually looked like a guy. His hair was ever so slightly shorter, no more than two centimeteres so, and less seemed a little taller too and was wearing a white shirt and strange looking pants that looked a bit better than similar, new and uncomfortable trousers England had been given to wear.

His face heated up for the third time, having just cooled down. He really didn't like this feeling of uncomfortable heat filling his cheeks. "Shut up, frog!"

France smirked, leaning forward, far too close for England's liking. "Still so shabby; now that you almost look your age, you'd think you'd want to look good. How do you ever think you could court a lady looking like that?" he crooned, pulling England's pink tinted cheek hard.

"W-why would I want to court a lady to begin with," he retorted awkwardly, "Hunting stuff is more fun than a boring, stick in the mud _girl_."

France grinned, "You've so much more to go," he sighed, petting his face in a way that looked stupid to England, "You are still so very very immature."

A scowl. "And you wonder why I hate you."

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><p>After France had left somewhere, England sat down at the foot of the tree again, confusion settling over him.<p>

He knew what his face going red meant; he'd saw the ladies do it in the nearby village do it when the men carried their handkerchiefs and called them beautiful. England hadn't ever really been complimented, but he guessed it would be embarrassing; therefore, his face being all hot was a sign of embarrassment.

He growled as it happened again and he buried his face in his arms, much to the dismay of the mint coloured rabbit trying to catch his attention beside him. France was making him embarrassed, which gave him another reason to despise the older boy, surely.

"There's other reasons, Albion."

England removed his head from between his knees to look at his little companion beside him. "What kind of reasons?" he replied sourly as the little creature clambered up on his lap.

"Well," Flying mint bunny started, "The ladies blush when they're being courted. People blush when they're angry. There's lots of reasons."

England grimaced. He'd been angry at France before; hell, he was always angry at France. Anger wasn't it. And, now that Mint Bunny mentioned it, he didn't feel overly mortified when France had teased him for his height, just peculiar.

"That's stupid," he retorted, hiding under his mussed fringe, "Your first option, I mean. I must have been angry; that's it."

The creature sighed. "Whatever you say, Albion, but don't you find it strange that you haven't reacted this way before?"

Growling, the young boy put his head between his legs again. "'m not a lady," his mumbled, his face heating up for the umpteenth time. He wished the stupid flush would just go away; life was so much easier when France didn't look cool, but just looked better than him, before he grew to almost France's height so the other boy couldn't look down on him anymore. Life was easier without France, period.

Then it hit him. Well, sort of. Actually, he was a long way off, but it doesn't really matter.

"I got it!" he cried out, jumping up and pointing at the startled faerie floating beside him, "_I'm_ not a lady, but _France_ is a whole different story!"

Mint Bunny looked distressed. "Please tell me you're not going where I think you're going with this."

England stuck his chin up, looking triumphant as he proclaimed- "I'm going to court France!"

The faerie face palmed.


	2. Part Two

**_Yumi- Sorry for the lateness, one more chapter to go~ (prepare for an abundance of kiddy tears in this and the next)_**

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><p><strong>Don't<strong>

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><p><p>

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><p>England fidgeted, twirling the ribbon attached to his shirt with his fingers, weaving it in and out impatiently.<p>

The idi- France was late again. It wasn't nice to call ladies idiots, so he presumed it was the same for all kinds of people he courted. Speaking of which, upon looking into this whole courting process, most of the people on the receiving, blushing, fragile end were ladies; but they could have just been silly boys in flouncy dresses like France as England couldn't say for certain.

He leaned up against the tree, sighing slightly. France being fashionably late was okay in a way, because England could think of how to go about actually doing this whole idea. His plan was starting to seem more and more immature and silly the more and more he thought about it and the longer he waited for the frivolous blonde.

France was a long away place, all the way over the sea. You couldn't even see it from the beaches on the very coast of England, or at least, not on any coast England had yet visited. France might have several pretty ladies or handsome men courting him already, that is, if girls could court boys. England wasn't sure, but it didn't seem likely, as he hadn't seen it happen yet.

England lowered his head, wondering if he could laugh off France coming here as some sort of prank, but his thoughts came too late as his name was called and two hands slapped down over his eyes, momentarily blinding him, causing everything to go a reddish black.

"Get off me!" he cried out, his face flushing because he had just screamed like a girl.

"Guess who," came the sing songy reply from the older boy, suppressing his giggles at England's flailing.

"Oh I don't know," England said dryly, "God?"

The hands disappeared and the younger swivelled around to meet a pouting France face to face. France wasn't wearing his silly, but rather nice (if he was a girl that is, duh) dress, but was wearing a shirt and pants as he had been last time England saw him. The younger deflated slightly. He felt rather stupid wearing a silly ribbon tie and pants that were actually intact now.

France smirked and England's neck heated up. "Did you dress up to see your big brother," he teased mercilessly, poking the younger boy in the side, taking delight as he squirmed away from him.

"S-shut up, Fro- France," England growled, wrapping his arms around himself to protect his sides from anymore incoming pokes.

France blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gave his younger a questioning look. "You're not trying to trick big brother, are you?"

England puffed out his cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're being polite," France asked with suspicion, "You are very rarely fair to me unless you need something off of me, so spill."

England dropped his gaze to the ground, his blush having not left his cheeks since France had appeared earlier. He pulled with the hem of his shirt pathetically and for the first time in his life, he wished the ground would swallow him, and not his counterpart, up whole.

What was he meant to do next? England could remember and it was all he could think to do was to stop himself from crying like the child he most certainly was not, out of frustration. Was he meant to take France's hand and nuzzle the back of it? Or was he meant to pick up France's handkerchief? But France hadn't dropped his handkerchief; England wasn't even sure if he had one to drop.

"Damn it, s-shut up," he managed, grabbing his lip and stretching it painfully, anything to stop it from wobbling. Nothing was working and he was so worked up that he didn't notice the flash of concern fleeting across his self proclaimed big brother's face.

France smiled slightly and closed the distance between them, taking England's chin between his forefinger and thumb and speaking seriously to his younger. "Hey," he murmured quietly, "Don't be like that. You know Big brother is only pulling your leg, right?"

England didn't answer as he knew his voice would sound funny if he did and that would ruin everything he had aimed so hard for. He blinked his eyes a few times and, when he was sure there was only a telltale red rim around them left, he grabbed France's hand that had been situated on his chin, brought it up a smidge and lay on it to at least attempt to start the courting procedure.

The problem with watching from such a long distance was that you couldn't see finer detail.

France blinked. "Angleterre...what are you doing?"

"S-shut it, I'm trying my best," England hissed, dropping France's hand like it was hot.

It only took France a few seconds longer to match up everything together, such as England's behaviour and the blush spread across both his cheeks. His mouth curved up in an impish smile. "C'est adorable," he tittered, not missing the flare in England's cheeks as he began to stammer uncontrollably at the notion.

"Don't c-call me cute!" he complained, his foot twitching with the urge to stamp it. France smiled again, leaning in and capturing his younger's lips.

"I speak the truth," he whispered against the other boy's silent lips before pressing them even closer than they previously were. There was silence except for the birds fluttering in the trees and France let himself think for a moment that England and he would get along a lot easier if he was always the quiet.

But then everything took a turn for the worst.

England's eyes widened as realisation to his situation hit him like a ton of bricks and he fought France's grip. After failing to escape that way, he resorted to clutching France's blonde locks and yanking them hard, causing the older to cry out in surprise. All the tears that had threatened to fall earlier came cascading out and, with one fluid motion, England pushed France away from him, the other stumbling, his back hitting an oak tree.

"...mutu-ual..," England hissed, wiping his mouth as he glared horridly through wet eyes across at the stunned other.

"Huh?" France asked, confusion taking over his features.

"G-go to hell, idiot!" came the one feral growl before England turned on his heel and fled the clearing.**  
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